


200(ish) followers - 200(ish) words

by victorine



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal (TV) RPF, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Actual literal fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Hannibal Extended Universe, Kissing, M/M, Madancy, Murder, Murder Husbands, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Lecter-Graham Dog, Possessive Hannibal, RPF, Sassy Will, Sassy Will Graham, Spacedogs, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, Will Cooks, Will in a cop uniform, references to Spideypool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets, prompted by folks on tumblr, to celebrate reaching 200 followers. Each chapter will be tagged with pairings and the original prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken From Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hannigram: this prompt was from [@ishipthemsogoddamnhard](https://tmblr.co/mA6_mjDX4WGqpgpvKNIaCVw), who wanted "possessive Hannibal."

“He was supposed to be mine. And now he is dead.” Hannibal stalked towards the body, his mouth set in a grim line. The blood, already drying across its pale skin, in its dark hair, did not look beautiful this time. “He was supposed to belong to me.”

“Oh, stop being such a big possessive baby. He’s dead, isn’t he, just like you wanted?”

Hannibal spun on his heel to gaze incredulously at his husband. Will was cleaning his knife, unperturbed.

“That, _William_ , is not the point. Four months of planning, waiting, designing a beautifully painful death – at _your_ request, I might add – and you throw it all away for a moment’s vicious thrill.” Hannibal threw his hands up, exasperated. “It is as if you appreciate none of the effort I went to.”

“Oh, baby, you know that’s not true. But you did want to wake the beast in me, after all,” Will added, wryly.

“Will, when I said I wanted you to hunt with me, I did in fact mean _with_ me, not instead.”

“I know, love, but I couldn’t help myself after he said that about you.” Will raised a bloody hand to Hannibal’s cheek and held his gaze. “You are not a ‘freaky foreign nutjob’ and nobody who would say so deserves to live. I would never allow them to.”

Hannibal sighed. It would be churlish to be irritated by Will’s love for him, after so many years spent cultivating it. “Alright, my darling. But next time, we are gagging our guest.”


	2. The Best Fuck You'll Never Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madancy: prompt by [@betterwhenitsraining](http://betterwhenitsraining.tumblr.com/), who asked for "Madancy, first time love-hate (sex or kiss. Or both.)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first experience of writing Madancy, or any RPF, in fact. Standard disclaimers apply: these are fictional versions of real people, I wish neither them, nor their partners or families any harm. If you don’t like RPF, please don’t read any further.
> 
> Set during the filming of King Arthur.

“Fuck you.”

“As if you ever would.”

Mads latched onto the young man’s eyes, not liking the challenge in those words. He had no idea where this mutual animosity came from but neither he nor Dancy – never _Hugh_ – had been able to stand more than a moment in each other’s company since starting this damn film. They couldn’t even exchange good mornings without sniping, Dancy about Mads’ cigarette breath, or Mads about Dancy’s fussiness. Which, given that they shared most scenes – and, on one awkward and never-to-be-spoken-of-again day, a horse – was making the Dane’s first experience of Hollywood something of a miserable one.

Normally, Mads would have relished so much time spent with one so beautiful, but Dancy seemed set on driving him crazy in much less pleasurable ways. It was getting so Mads could think of little else.

“Too bad for you. I’ll be the best fuck you never had.”

Dancy sneered, his pretty eyes narrowing. “Oh yeah? You think so?”

And then Dancy was crushing himself against Mads, pressing their mouths together and licking his way inside. When Mads gained back enough brain power to stop what was happening, he realised he really didn’t want to. So much so that he couldn’t help a little whine when Dancy pulled back again, grinning.

“Fuck,” he said, the curse sounding impossibly sexy in his posh accent, “been wanting to do that for _weeks_.”

“But,” Mads said, floundering, “you can’t stand me. We can’t stand _each other_.”

Dancy shrugged and, smirking, leaned in until their lips almost touched. “I’m willing to work on that, for the sake of the film, of course. If you are.”

Mads thought for a moment, then shrugged in return and decided he could probably do that. Starting by kissing the smirk off the insufferable kid’s face.


	3. Proofs of Ownership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: prompted by [@axmxz](https://tmblr.co/m6KyWEUyP2S7JN6SQjl8-gg), who wanted possessive Hannibal "with extra possessive."

_Crack._

The body dropped to the ground, revealing the seething, cruel-eyed man who had just broken its neck. Will lifted his eyes, calm despite the panic now rising in the crowd surrounding them.

“What the fuck, Hannibal?” he asked, affronted.

The older man stepped into his space, hissing, “He _touched_ you.” Hannibal’s eyes moved to the scar on Will’s cheek, now almost healed, where the dead man had run a finger minutes before.

Will shrugged, and leaned back against the bar. “Someone should.”

There was screaming in the background, but neither man paid it any attention as Hannibal bracketed Will between his arms. “You would let just anyone? Would you have let him touch you here?” Hannibal brushed the back of his hand against the mark on Will’s stomach. Hannibal’s mark.

Will shuddered. “No. Never.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s yours.”

“ _You_ are mine.” His knuckles still rested, heavy, against Will’s skin.

Will breathed in the scent of his anger. “Prove it.”

The kiss was punishing, bruising, a declaration of ownership. Will returned it with fierce relief, staking his own claim just as definitively.

A distant siren sounded.

Hannibal pulled away, clearly reluctant. “Time to go?”

“Just one thing, first.” Will looked up, from under his eyelashes, in an expression he knew was familiar to them both. “If I am yours, then…”

Hannibal tipped his head, equally familiar. “Oh, Will,” he breathed, fond, “do you really have to ask?”

“It would be rude to assume.”

“Rude, but in this case, completely correct.”

Will brushed a bare kiss to Hannibal’s mouth. “Good, then,” he said, before leading them out into the darkness, wrapped up in each other, an escape to ensure and new intimacies to explore.


	4. Love, and a bit with a dog.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: for [@deardresden](https://tmblr.co/m8gPoFXcRJp1nIJA6j42kQw), who asked for "Hannibal fluff featuring a pug."

It makes no sense.

Will Graham has _seen things_ in his life. He’s seen mushroom gardens grown in living corpses. He’s seen an origami heart sculpted from the body of a poet. He’s seen a man tear his way out of a horse. He’s seen an unfeeling monster fall helplessly in love and seen himself fall with it, slower and less certain but just as deep.

But the sight of Hannibal Lecter, curled in the corner of _their_ sofa, in _their_ home, with _their_ pug settled in his lap, snoring gently as Hannibal pets its head? Well that’s just downright weird.

“William, you are staring, and since I think it is not with the intention of proposing intercourse, I would rather you tell me why.”

“It’s just…” Will crosses the room to stand in front of the sofa and gestures towards the sleeping dog, “I thought you might _tolerate_ a dog. For me. I never thought you’d actually _like_ it. Especially not a pug.”

“Is there something particularly off putting about pugs?” Hannibal glances down at the dog, Cicero, curious.

“No, but… well, they’re not the most elegant of breeds,” Will says, before adding “sorry, buddy,” to the dog.

“Hmm,” Hannibal smirks, looking from the dog to Will. “You mean you wonder why I would feel affection for something scruffy, inelegant and ungainly, that pulls frankly ridiculous facial expressions in response to nearly everything?”

“Well, yeah, I… oh.” Will crosses his arms. “I do not resemble a pug, Hannibal.”

Hannibal is openly grinning now. “I believe we should test that theory.”

Before Will can object, Hannibal has lifted Cicero from his lap and pulled Will onto it. Hannibal looks immensely satisfied with himself, though the pug is less impressed at his sudden ousting, flumping down onto his new seat with a huff. Ignoring him, Hannibal appraises his new seatmate. “Hmm, I believe you are right after all, dearest, you do look much more fetching on my lap than poor Cicero.”

Will smacks him in the chest for that, then cocks an eyebrow, thoughtful. “So, you’re saying that you feel fondness for dogs that remind you of me?”

“Yes,” Hannibal admits, suddenly wary.

“In that case, there’s a new stray at the pound that has all this curly brown fur…”

Will grins triumphantly as Hannibal places his head in his hands and begins thinking up dog names pretentious enough for his husband to deem bearable.


	5. Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spacedogs: from a prompt by [@jadegreenworks](https://tmblr.co/m5KPsVnBO01z_v8Rq_yPb-Q), who suggested "Spacedogs and fluff."

“Oh, no.”

Nigel snapped his head up, instantly abandoning his messaging with Darko at the distressed tone of Adam’s voice. Proving to Darko that he had not, in fact, become a _love-whipped cuddle pussy_ whom Darko _could drink under any table_ would have to wait.

“Something the matter, gorgeous?” he inquired, keeping his tone calm and light. A small squeak escaped from Adam’s mouth and he turned from the dryer, holding a small pile of laundry out to Nigel. “Oh. Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t check your pockets,” Adam quavered, looking at the mess of white fluff that clung to the otherwise clean clothing, the diffused remains of a forgotten tissue.

“Shit, Adam, I didn’t think, I was in a rush and I just… stuffed them in there,” he finished, lamely.

Adam’s mouth worked, as he looked mournfully at the ruined laundry, his breath speeding up and his shoulders jerking. Nigel reached out a hand, desperate to stop the upset before it started.

And then Adam opened his mouth to let out a laugh. A full-body laugh that filled their apartment and left Nigel with a bemused grin on his face. When the giggling had receded a bit, he asked, tentatively, “Adam, darling, are you alright?”

“Y-yes,” Adam managed, laughter still breaking up his words. “I was just th-thinking that I really love you.”

Nigel was a little hurt that the first time Adam said those words was while laughing at him, but not enough not to smile broadly as he asked, “And that is funny, loving me?”

“Yes! Because I really, really shouldn’t. I shouldn’t love someone who smokes, and swears, and leaves tissues in with the laundry. But I really, really do.” Adam smiled up at Nigel, who couldn’t recall ever having seen anything so beautiful.

“Well, that’s lucky, gorgeous,” he purred, coming to stand in front of Adam.

“It is?”

“Yes. Both because I love you too, and also because you are more likely to forgive me for this.” With which, Nigel grabbed the clothes from Adam’s arms, dropped them on the counter and threw Adam over his shoulder, carrying the squealing, still-giggling man back to their bedroom, to firmly put all thoughts of laundry out of either of their heads.


	6. Right Across Your Stupid Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spacedogs: Anonymous prompt for, "Something spacedogs. Adam gets angry, because Nigel is acting like an ass (too much), and slaps him. Idk, I just want some angst."

“I’m fucking going to fucking slaughter the whole bastard fucking whoreson lot of them.” Nigel was stalking around their apartment, rage sparking off of him with a crackle of swear words as accompaniment. It was the worst display Adam had seen from him in years, reminding him of the uncontrolled anger that had so upset him when they met. Over the course of their relationship, Nigel had worked hard to control it, both for Adam’s sake and his own desire to get out of the world that had instilled such impulses in the first place.

This relapse was frightening Adam right down to his core. His hands were already covering his ears and he was braced against a wall as he tracked Nigel’s movements with wide, tear-filled eyes. In the small voice that was all he could manage just now, he pleaded, “Please, Nigel, don’t.”

Nigel ignored him. Nigel _never_ ignored him, he always gave Adam his full attention, always listened to whatever Adam had to say, for however long he took to say it. Which might have been why Adam then did something he thought _he_ would never do.

***

Had it been anyone else, they’d already be smashed and bloody from Nigel’s fists. But this was Adam.

_Adam_ had slapped him.

Adam had _slapped_ him.

The shock of it worked like a thousand bolts of electricity to Nigel’s soul. He gathered the smaller man to him, saying, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry.”

His face buried in Nigel’s shoulder, Adam stuttered, “W-why are you s-sorry? I hit you!” His voice rose in panic.

“I deserved it, darling, you were right to do it. I’m sorry, I was stupid. I love you.”

“I l-love you too.”

“I’ll fix this, I promise.”

“I know.” Nigel felt Adam grip him tighter. “I know you will.”


	7. The Mess You Make Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: prompted by [@redfivewritingby](https://tmblr.co/mYXa3vhOJ8rWrCwicVDKfQw) for "Hannibal watches Will at the dog pound trying to decide on the dog he has finally agreed to let Will get."

This was going to be a mess. Everything with Will was messy. He killed in broad stripes of splattering colour, drenching them both in heat and viscera. He made love halfway out of his clothes, dirt under his nails, furniture in disarray, and Hannibal too. He tracked mud, leaves and motor oil through the house, and the less said about the state of the kitchen after he gutted his latest catch, the better.

Allowing a dog into the equation was hardly going to improve matters.

And Hannibal did not care. Because now, every day, Will smiled at him. For him. With him.

Hannibal, always a collector of the rare and precious, had become the curator of Will Graham’s smiles. They were far more frequent and varied in the days since the cliff, but Hannibal still carefully stored each one in his memories, saving the most special space for those that he himself somehow, miraculously, was the cause of. There was the feral, razor-edged one Will would send him over bloody and ruined flesh. The soft, dreamy one that greeted him each morning, its wonder a matched pair, Hannibal knew, with his own. The smirking, indulgent one that spoke of fond exasperation and patient affection. The quick, almost perfunctory one, tossed away in passing, an automatic reflex because that was what Will did, now, when he saw Hannibal, he smiled.

And here was another, brand new and gleaming in its purity. Will, surrounded by the creatures he loved, his warm weight against Hannibal’s legs as he crouched in front of a cage, smiling up at Hannibal as if everything he would ever need was here in this room. If adopting a dog meant that smile would take its place not just in his memory palace but in his days and hours, vital, and real and beautiful…

“It’s so hard to decide, I wish I could take them all.” The smile began to furl at the corners.

That would not do. “Well,” a long suffering sign, because some appearances must be kept up, even by a fool in love, “perhaps we can find room for two.”


	8. The Marks We Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: for [@moorsmist](https://tmblr.co/mBqc8aa_xd8SGJUNw7yPLUw), whose prompt was, "Thirding the possessive Hannibal, but since that’s probably less than helpful I think we need some snitty Will for a change?"
> 
> I did my best to provide both!

“I suppose you left this for me to see with some reason in mind, Will?”

“Left what, darling?”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at the falsely sweet tone. “The website for a local tattoo parlour, dearest,” he called back, all affectionate indulgence. He had never yet backed down from a game between them.

Will sauntered across from the kitchen to lean across Hannibal’s shoulder and peer at the screen of his tablet. “Oh, that,” he said, blithely, going back to the coffee machine. “Just something I’ve been considering.”

Hannibal allowed his eyes to roam across his husband’s form. “You don’t feel you have collected enough permanent markings in your life?”

Will shot him a smile that was an eerie echo of the one on his torso, utterly at odds with the cooing lightness of his voice. “Oh, but my love, only you and I know the significance of _those_. I thought it might be prudent to get something that unmistakably states the truth.”

“Ah. This is about last night, then.” Hannibal had been wondering when that might come up.

“Mmm. It’s really more for your protection than anything else. If you insist on eating everyone who ever shows interest in me, you’re going to get yourself caught in short order.”

“Perhaps you would prefer that.”

“No, no,” Will smiled brightly, ignoring the attempt at self-pity, “I much prefer my solution.” He pointed to his own forehead. “I thought, _Property of Hannibal Lecter_ , just here. In your handwriting, of course, love. Perhaps in red ink, reminiscent of the last time you marked me there.”

Ah. Will had invoked the bone saw. Long since explained, apologised for and forgiven, it still had a tendency to come up when Will was in the type of mood that usually ended with Hannibal sleeping on the couch for a week. Sometimes sporting some fresh marks of his own.

Sometimes Hannibal accepted those marks with relish. Sometimes he engineered their creation.

But sometimes, he just wanted his husband back.

“Or I could just trust you.”

Will set a cup of coffee next to Hannibal’s armchair, and himself in Hannibal’s lap. “Or that,” he agreed, allowing Hannibal to run a hand along the scar on his forehead and up into his hair.

“I must admit, I would still very much like to kill her, though. With your permission,” he added, off Will’s look. “She was quite rude in addition to her habit of flirting with other people’s husbands.”

“It’s funny you should say that. Would you like to join me in the basement?”

Hannibal gazed in wonder at the man who continued to prove himself worthy of the years of effort it had taken to catch him. “My love, I shall never doubt you again.”


	9. Spacedeypool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spacedogs: prompt by [@pinkbagels](https://tmblr.co/mgAyIQiN_Ftoiw5UfYGgo4w), for "Adam discovers Nigel is secretly heavily into Spideypool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m not really a comics reader and didn’t really know anything about Spideypool beyond its existence. I’m hoping that the little bit of research I did means that I’ve got the details right but, if not, do me a favour and take it as charming naivety, not woeful incompetence. Please?

“Nigel, what is Spideypool?”

Nigel cracked open an eye, utterly disorientated by both the question and the sight of Adam peering down at him from on high.

“Ce spui, îngerul meu?”* he murmured.

“Um, I know _angel_ but could you ask again in English, please?”

Nigel stretched pleasantly along the length of the couch where he had dropped off. “I asked what you were talking about, darling.”

Adam held out the tablet he was clutching. _Nigel’s_ tablet, he realised. “I picked this up from your stomach because I was worried it would fall and get damaged, and I noticed that you had several tabs open discussing something called ‘Spideypool’ and you were showing signs of waking up so I thought I would ask what it was.”

“Oh.” With anyone else Nigel might have felt embarrassed but Adam never judged anybody for loving something. So… “Ok, you know who Spider-Man is, right darling?”

There followed a surprisingly intense, two-hour discussion, of the sort that usually involved Adam explaining something highly technical about space, while Nigel tried not to get too turned on by his enthusiasm. Except tonight it was Adam sitting quietly while Nigel explained Wade Wilson’s crush on Peter Parker, including a forty-five minute segue into the definition of “shipping,” his gestures growing wilder and more expansive as he made the case for his OTP.

Eventually, he flopped against the couch, out of examples and badly craving chimichangas.

“So you are in favour of a romantic relationship between a damaged, sarcastic, foul-mouthed man and his shy, scientifically-minded friend?” Adam said, smiling softly at Nigel.

“Yes,” he said, smiling back. The parallel had not been lost on him. Trust his clever star to be so quick. “But Peter’s not interested.”

“I think Peter Parker must be an idiot, then.”

Nigel looked up at him, confused. “Actually, he’s really fucking intelligent, angel. Almost as smart as you.”

Adam shook his head. “No, that can’t be true. If this Deadpool is anything like you, and Peter doesn’t want to be his boyfriend, then he can’t be all that smart. I wanted you to be my boyfriend after only three days of knowing you.”

“Yeah, gorgeous, I remember. Never been propositioned in a laundry room before. Or by somebody holding a report on our points of compatibility.”

“And I think you will agree that my projections have been borne out.”

Nigel grinned. “So you shipped us right from the start, baby?”

“Well, we are not fictional, so the point is moot, but if you are asking whether I believe our romantic involvement is a good thing?” 

“Yeah, angel?”

“Nigel, with you I hit the jackpot.”

Nigel pulled Adam into his lap and kissed him firmly in agreement. “Baby?” he asked, when they finally came up for air.

“Yes, Nigel?”

“It would appear something other than my spidey-sense is tingling…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *What are you saying, my angel?
> 
> If Adam’s “jackpot” line seems a little OOC, it’s because it’s a reference to Mary-Jane’s first ever line to Peter Parker in Amazing Spider-Man #42: “Face it, tiger… You just hit the jackpot!” Which, admittedly, is a different ship but cute Spideypool quotes are hard to come by!


	10. Will You Walk Into My Bathroom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: prompt by [@slashyrogue](https://tmblr.co/mWJk2qqnM45zztVbROtUBaA), whose suggestion was, "BLANK is terrified of spiders. BLANK #2 is the policeman who comes when someone calls the cops after hearing a loud scream, finding BLANK locked in the bathroom. Your choice who the blanks are."

“Sir? Sir, this is the police. Your landlord let us in after a neighbour reported screaming coming from this apartment. I need to know if everything’s ok. Can you open this door, please?”

Hannibal heaved a breath. He braced himself to give the pre-prepared reason for his seclusion in his bathroom, needing to placate this officer without giving him cause to search the rest of the apartment.

He pulled open the bathroom door and reflected that it would be no chore to charm the man behind it. Soft, if wild, brown curls framed a set of wide, long-lashed blue eyes, the expression of which held the promise of intelligence and insight. His mouth, though set into a concerned line at present, was pink, and pretty, and immediately set Hannibal to imagining how it would yield to his own. 

Better still, beneath this pleasing visage was an equally pleasing body, the firm muscles of which strained temptingly against the too-tight confines of a beat cop’s uniform. Hannibal found he wanted to feel the roll and heft of those muscles against his own. Thinking fast, he sighted over the policeman’s shoulder, shouted, “It’s back!” and pulled the smaller man into the bathroom, holding him firmly in his arms as he locked the door behind them.

“What the hell?” the officer protested. “What do you think you’re doing Mr…”

“It’s Doctor, actually. Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

“Fine, _doctor_ ,” the officer spat, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving us from the rather dangerous spider that is stalking my halls.”

The younger man gave him a sardonic look. “A spider?”

“Mmm. A brown recluse, I believe. I have already called pest control and was waiting for them in here when you arrived. I think it is best if you wait with me. I’m sure we can find ways to occupy ourselves.” He ran a hand down the man’s spine for emphasis.

“Sir!” The officer squirmed in Hannibal’s grip, somehow contriving to rub up against his crotch even as he tried to escape. “This is completely inappropriate!”

“I believe your uniform is the only inappropriate thing here,” Hannibal purred. “You are practically bursting out of it,” he added, nosing along the base of the officer’s throat as his hands dropped to cup his ass.

“Oh, fuck.” The officer’s voice had gone breathy, dropping low as he pressed against the older man, his veneer of professionalism gone. Then, a second later, he placed both hands against the doctor’s chest, shoving him away. “Hannibal, no!”

Hannibal ducked his head, essaying coquettishness, and asked, “Inappropriate again, Officer Graham?”

The policeman put both hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “You damn well know you’re not supposed to start groping me until later. When I see the guy you’ve got tied up and find myself irresistibly turned on by your murdery ways? Remember?”

“I do apologise, my darling, I had not anticipated the effect seeing you in your uniform would have. Did you deliberately procure a size too small just to tempt me?”

Will grinned. “Busted. You always could see right through me.”

Hannibal pulled his husband back against his chest and murmured, “I would rather see beneath this uniform…”

Will placed his hands back on Hannibal’s chest but didn’t shove this time. “Down boy. We’ve still got a guy tied up in your study. Don’t you want a chance to seduce me over to the dark side all over again?”

“I still maintain it was you who first seduced me.”

Will gave him a soft look. “Who was the spider and who was the fly? Does it matter, when we both chose to be trapped in the other’s web?” They shared a kiss. “But, honestly, Hannibal, a venomous spider? Your alibis are usually better than that nonsense.”

“I was thinking on my feet, love.”

“And while I’m at it, you know if you ever do see a brown recluse – and yes, I get the joke – you need to get as far away as possible, right? Because their venom…”

“Will, dearest, I appreciate that you are something of an expert on bugs…”

“ _Something?_ I wrote the standard monograph on…”

“Yes, yes, your mind is magnificent. But may I propose that finishing our game might be a more pleasant way to spend the next few hours than a lecture on spider bites?”

Will huffed, but quickly relented when Hannibal pressed a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, against his throat. “Fine. Meet me in your study in five?”

Hannibal drew back and indulged in another lengthy inspection of Will’s uniform. “Let’s make it two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a paraphrase of a line from _[The Spider and the Fly](http://www.love-poems.me.uk/howitt_the_spider_and_the_fly_funny.htm)_ by Mary Howitt.


	11. Degustation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram: prompt from [@hannibalnuxvomica](https://tmblr.co/mU5VO82rBZS24DgemuFgsQw), who simply wanted, "Will cooks dinner for Hannibal."

_No, get out and stay out!_

_Will, please—_

_No. I know you wanted to christen it but you can still barely stand and I’m not waiting another month for a home-cooked meal. I am perfectly capable, I will not break your kitchen. If we’re still here when you’re healed, it’ll be waiting for you. Until then, out!_

Hannibal had pouted like a small child – _exactly what he is_ – at Will’s insistence on cooking their first real meal in weeks. This new place was the first they’d stayed in with adequate facilities since the boat Chiyoh had dragged them onto, mostly drowned, at which point neither of them had really been up for eating (or talking, or staying conscious). So the possessive gleam in Hannibal’s eyes at the range cooker, the assortment of copper saucepans, the quality of the knives hadn’t surprised Will in the least. The well-stocked fridge had, but Hannibal had managed many things more inexplicable than that, and Will didn’t feel the urge to inquire, content to allow the man to bask in thoughts of cooking again.

Except about four seconds later Hannibal had clutched at Will’s arm for support, betraying the unlikelihood of him being able to make anything much more elaborate than a glass of water.

So Will – being rather further along in the healing process – had turned them towards the living room, ignoring Hannibal’s vociferous complaints, installed Hannibal on the ridiculously plush sofa and checked to make sure all his stitches were where they ought to be. Then, satisfied that they were, he announced his intentions to unpack their meagre belongings, take a shower and cook dinner. He had certainly not announced that he would be unpacking them into the same room, having no wish to discuss the wrench in his stomach when he considered no longer sleeping next to Hannibal.

Will’s parting shot had been to ask if he would be killed if he overcooked Hannibal’s steak. He grinned at the growl he got in response, wondering which Hannibal was more pissed at: his loss of culinary control, or Will’s pedestrian choice of entrée.

He was surprised he’d only had to deal with one attempt at a coup.

Any complaints Hannibal had been hoarding, though, seemed to die as his eyes widened at the plate Will set in front of him. _Whiskey-glazed steak with grilled potatoes dressed in olive oil, vinegar and garlic_. He had hoped for a laugh at his faultless _Hannibal Lecter Presents_ impression. Instead, _oh shit_ , Will was in trouble again, because Hannibal was looking at him with that crushingly intense reverence that Will had no idea what to do with. And then he was moaning around his first bloody mouthful and Will’s gaze was dragging down and…

_Fuck._

Apparently Hannibal’s food kink was catching. Because the thing that finally dispelled any last, lingering notions of Will not wanting to kiss Hannibal was the sight of those curving, red lips as they worked hungrily on the food that Will had provided. When Hannibal swallowed, Will had to suppress a moan.

“Will?” Hannibal was _smirking_. “Do you not want to taste your creation?”

And, _oh_ , he thought, kicking back his chair and stalking round the table, how much he did.

When Will kissed him, Hannibal tasted of char, iron and heat. He tasted of a million half-formed desires coalescing into perfect, aching need. He tasted of the years they had spent not doing this and the ones they would spend doing little else.

Soon, Will thought, soon he would get up. He would make Hannibal finish his meal, because he needed his strength and because Will enjoyed providing for his family.

But just now, just for the next few minutes, Will needed to memorise that taste. Needed to take it into himself. His first taste of Hannibal. His first taste of home.


End file.
